The Raiselig Dossier: In Shadows Lay

Deep in the darkest night it lay.

It had learned, over the years, to be patient. Good things would always come to those who wait, and it had waited a very long time indeed. Empires rose and fell, languages came and went. Certain words fell in and out of fashion, and sometimes took on new meanings all together.

Before long, it could feel the time was right…

And it reached out a shadowy claw…

The leg it gripped was not that of a child.

“Bauk? What are you doing?”

The Bauk looked up from its shadowy hiding spot, into the glowing blue eyes of a Scrivener.

“Bauk is doing what Bauk does,” it hissed, “and not listening to you. Does not recognize your authority, Bauk does not.”

“They said the charm. You know better.”

“Charm?” The Bauk’s many teeth spread in a thorny smile. “Bauk heard no charm. Bauk heard many words, but no charm was spoke. No, no. Bauk heard sound, but no charm.”

The Scrivener leaned down, carefully extracting the Bauk’s thick claws from their ankle. “No? Then you are lucky I was here to stop you.”

“Lucky?” the Bauk snapped its needle-teeth in defiance. “No lucky. Would have warm heart. Would have clean flesh. Would have tender meal, but no, you unlucky!”

“You would be torn to the shadows,” the Scrivener muttered, brushing off their trouser leg. “A thousand generations in the darkness. Is that what you want?”

The Bauk cowed, but it did not slink away into the shadows. Not this time.

It was the way of the Bauk to cower and hide, to vanish into its den. It was supposed to avoid the prying eyes of beings that lived in the light. But the Bauk had been crafty. It had been clever. It had thought for years and years about what was, what is, and what should be. It knew what to say, and so when threatened by the burning eyes of the Scrivener, it crawled forward once more, and hissed: “No claim. No claim!”

The Scrivener paused then, and looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes, yes,” the Bauk waved a claw, “heard words I did, but not the right words. Mean nothing. No charm if no meaning.”

The Scrivener opened their mouth, and closed it again. It was rare that it was ever challenged, and never in recent memory by a Bauk. “Are you saying the charm is invalid because they don’t know it’s a charm?”

“May know it’s charm,” the Bauk squirmed, “may even know what it means. Old language. But they not feel it. Not know it like they know their name.”

“That doesn’t matter,” the Scrivener pinched their nose. “The fact is, they said the charm.”

“No,” the Bauk hissed as it slipped forward, its head peaking out from the hidden hole where it lay. “What is charm? You tell Bauk now, what is charm that keep Bauk away from children!”

“I don’t sing,” the Scrivener said with an icy tone.

“No?” the Bauk’s needle-teeth glinted in the darkness. “But sing good or bad, it will keep Bauk away, yes? Bauk see bond, see contract. Bauk read. Must have allowances, yes? Can hold note longer or shorter. Not need exact pitch. Sign may be made a bit to right or left of heart and still work, yes? Soft, is charm. Very soft.”

The Scrivener was silent. The Bauk took this as a good sign, and continued to speak. “So soft,” it whispered. “But soft contract no good. What is strong in charm? Not words, not song, is heart! If child wants to keep Bauk away, and tries to sing charm, it good enough. Bauk kept away. They no believe in Bauk anymore. What is Bauk? Thing in darkness, but no darkness anymore. Shadows hide nothing they haven’t seen. They used to believe. Sang charm to warn me off. Made the sign. Bauk can’t take children. Why sing charm? No child ever taken by Bauk. Now they sing charm, but why? No Bauk, so no charm. See?”

The Scrivener cocked their head. “Have we met before?”

The Bauk swallowed its tongue. “No, never. That is…maybe? Bauk not remember ever seeing Scrivener before. Pass on street once?”

The Scrivener leaned down closer to the Bauk, inhaling deeply. “I know that scent. I sanctioned you a century ago for being in broad daylight.”

“Was not daylight, was dusk-light,” the Bauk sniffed. “Didn’t have to burn up, Bauk didn’t.”

The Scrivener sighed. With a sickening crunch, the Scrivener’s cabinet dropped from their shoulders to the ground. Turning about, the Scrivener opened the locks and produced pages and books and scrolls. A pen was drawn, and the Bauk staggered backwards as the Scrivener sank into the mud, a lapdesk on their legs.

“What…what is this?” The Bauk shrieked. “No claim can be made on Bauk, and Bauk files no complaint! What is this?”

“A hearing,” the Scrivener said. “Honorable Scrivener Raiselig presiding. Do you accept my impartiality of judgment?”

“No!” The Bauk hissed. “Harassment, this is. Bauk does not recognize Scrivener as authority. Demands recompense!”

“For what?”

The Bauk paused. “What you got?”

Raiselig heaved a sigh. “I need you to understand how much trouble you are in, Bauk. The establishment of the administrative rules managing permissible behavior of shadow-demons and bogies was one of the first actions undertaken by the legion-councils. Claiming children out of your jurisdiction is a serious offense, and carries with it severe penalties.”

“Reject your penalties! Reject your court! Reject you!”

“If you are found guilty of circumventing the established law, you will be redefined.”

“Pah!” The Bauk spat. “Bauk does not care. Bauk rejects your definition. Bauk knows what Bauk is. Bauk does what Bauk can do! Bauk not need system, Bauk is part of secret organization.”

Raiselig paused. “Are you, now?”

“Yes! Yes!” The shadows grew deeper. “Settling not for everyone, you know. We get hurt, get pushed down, get pressed into boots for mortals to wear. But we fight back!”

Raiselig set the pen down. “Fight back how, exactly?”

The Bauk scratched its cheek with a knife-like finger. “Not fight exactly, practice old ways. Keep the old world alive.” The Bauk looked the thin Scrivener up and down. “Always accepting new members. We are. Those who do not wish to succumb to mortal demands.”

Raiselig straightened. The night was cool and calm, barely a single breeze floated through the air. The sound of insects was absent, save for a single cricket in the distance, ignorant of what was passing between the Scrivener and their client.

“I’m afraid,” Raiselig picked up their pen again, “you have mistaken me for someone willing to betray their oath for dreams.”

“Not dream!” The Bauk snapped its needle-teeth. “Not dream! Is real! Old ways never die, only hide from bright mortals and harsh sunlight.”

“I promise you,” Raiselig’s voice was sad, “that is not true.”

“You see!” The Bauk hissed. “You see, I show you! You see is true! Bauk refuses Scrivener’s hearing. Is true! No Settling ways! Bauk refuses hearing! Demands old trial!”

Even though Raiselig’s lap-desk was well seasoned through centuries of use, even though their willow-wick pen was older than many kingdoms, even though they had lived as a Scrivener long enough to understand the full weight and strength of the law, they couldn’t help but shudder. “I would strongly advise against it.”

The Bauk crept forward, joined by shadowy fingers and grasping whispers. “Yes, yes! In the darkness Bauk crawls, with tongue of blood Bauk calls! Herada, calls Bauk. Yijjila and Espertam, too! Call the dripping and the lost ripples, call the whisper and the echo! Call to shadows yet unborn, call to sparks of reflected flame! Call to bringer of sorrows and Gjik, speaker of vengeance!”

Raiselig swallowed hard. Even through their thick clothing, the wind was cold on their skin. The dark skies drew closer, sinking from their lofty height. The distant crickets fell silent.

The Bauk raised its limbs to the air. “Beating Heart of Fallen Love, and Five Chains Winding! Usbka the feaster, and Bolbellous thrice struck! A jury of blood and dust! From the mud and the vines, from sands and sharp rocks! Call to judge, call to measure! Bauk calls forth a trial!”

The echoes of the Bauk’s cries dwindled into the swirling shadows, and were swallowed.

Silence reigned.

Then, with a cough of mild embarrassment, Raiselig held out a piece of paper.

“If you wish to avail yourself of an old trial, you’ll need to sign this.”

The Bauk looked down at the form. Its limbs dropped. For a moment longer there was silence. No shadows came, no jury appeared, no tribunal formed. The crickets once more began clicking through the night, oblivious to the Bauk’s embarrassed despair.

“Eaten,” the Bauk whispered at last. “All eaten.”

“May I ask,” Raiselig cleared their throat, “Which secret organization do you belong to? The Keepers? Shadow-watch? The Order of the Three Crows?”

The Bauk sighed. “Shadow-watch. Good friends, they are.”

“I’m sure they’re good people,” Raiselig shifted. “Do you want me to help you fill out the form?”

With a whirling flail of sharp shadows, the form was snatched from Raiselig’s hands and torn to shreds. The snarling and wailing of the Bauk was muffled by the paper stuck between its teeth.

Raiselig waited patiently, watching with the Bauk until the last scrap had blown away in the dusty breeze.

“Old court presided over the Chained Dragon,” the Bauk hissed. “Was the first rule of Tooth and Stone. Saw the rise of Gareth Sparkshatter. Caught the fool all sickly about the ankle. Knew everything, the court did. The law of the wild and the ways of the rivers.”

Raiselig could remember those days, packed in tight with the thousands of swirling limbs and leathery backs. Feet stamped and tongues cried out at the serious revelry that was performed underneath the moon. They had even performed themselves, once. They had screamed into the night with a voice as pure as burning leaves, and sprayed the writhing crowd with harsh and bitter bile. They won in the end, to delight and dismay.

What had been on the docket? They couldn’t remember.

“Now,” the Bauk’s tone was weighty with regret, “now submits to forms. Once, Bauk could call trial and they would come. Now, subordinate. Subject. Weak.”

“If you will accept some unasked for advice,” Raiselig said, “I never found dwelling in the past or mourning what is lost to be very productive.”

“Productive?” The Bauk looked with milky eyes into Raiselig’s. “What is productive? Bauk never was productive. Bauk was.”

Raiselig pulled more paper from the cabinet. “What were you?”

The Bauk’s eyes narrowed. “Tricky Scrivener. Trying to trick Bauk. Trying to name what was a feeling.”

“I’m sure it must be lonely, just being.”

The stillness of the night drew long.

“Tricky Scrivener,” the Bauk hissed. Then: “Bauk was pit in stomach. Hair on neck. Sneaking. Grasping. Tearing. Laughing drips of red. Limbs and foul smell, reaching out for soft and tender flesh.”

Raiselig listened while the Bauk whispered, explaining the many facets of its existence. It detailed the best and worst of its life, the looks of horror and the cries of joy. From the darkest shadow to the brightest moonlight, Raiselig listened.

“There,” they said when the Bauk fell silent. “Now all you have to do is sign here.”

The Bauk stared at the dotted line. “Then what will become of Bauk?”

“You will be official,” Raiselig said. “You will have a place in the system.”

“Bauk hate system. Was never part of system before. Was Bauk. Never helpless. Never hopeless. Not before. Never scared.”

Raiselig felt, for the first time in many years, the urge to place their hand on the tiny thing’s shoulder. “Are you scared now?”

“Bauk never part of system. Bauk not trust it.”

Raiselig licked their lips, gently placing their willow-wick rod on their lap-desk. “I know it seems bad now, and I won’t pretend a great many of us fell through the cracks. But if you are interested, we are more than willing to help patch those cracks, and make sure no one falls through this one again.”

“Us?” The Bauk sank lower into the mud.

Raiselig reached out to pat the darkness on the arm. “Things will be better for you in the new world, I’m sure of it.”

“Better,” the Bauk snapped. “Bauk was happy. Old ways worked, they did. Child sang charm, Bauk stayed away. Child stayed away from the forests. Stayed away from flickering shadows and dark caves. Feared Bauk, they did, and Bauk ate them that weren’t afraid. The old ways worked.”

A deep growl rumbled in the shadow’s chest. “But they wanted to change, so they forced us to change. With steel and rope and ink they bind us. Bauk cannot eat child. Bond broken. No more than whispers in nighttime, and Bauk is nothing anymore.”

“You can become more than what you were,” Raiselig pushed. “You aren’t trapped anymore.”

“Was never trapped,” the Bauk sighed. “Or was trapped the same as everything. Bauk doesn’t know. Bauk knew could always become more, but could chose which more for Bauk’s self.” The wind blew softly as the past was made manifest in Raiselig’s mind. “Bauk saw the war. Bauk is very old. Bauk didn’t fight then. Bauk hid, like good Bauk. Bauk saw the teeth and the flesh. Saw tears and sweat. Saw them all live and die, and then more came. Every day more came. More fell. Bauk never kill olds, because olds wise. You old, you have history. World before is old. World after is child. Always chased the after. So many old died, no wisdom. No history. Never again, they said, and sword became pen. Blood ink. Paper armor. How many died in the second war? How much wisdom? How much history?” The Bauk looked up, eyes dim and milky. “How many dead by your pen?”

Raiselig didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, they sat quietly in the evening air.

“Bauk is hungry.”

“I know.” The wind blew gently, rustling the shadow in a manner that might have been smoke, might have been hair. Raiselig kept watching, because there was little wisdom in turning away from a Bauk.

They sat together, watching each other, and waiting.

Finally, there was a click of needle-teeth at their side. “Show Bauk form again.”

Raiselig slipped their lap-desk off their legs and pushed it in front of the milky-red eyes of the Bauk. It muttered to itself for a moment as it struggled to piece together the large words.

“Hm.” The Bauk sniffed the paper and held out its claw. “Bauk needs pen. Will not touch Scrivener’s pen.”

“Thank you,” Raiselig produced a small pen from their suit pocket. “Sign here, here, and here.”

In seconds, the form was finished.

“When does it happen?” The Bauk asked, their voice almost a whisper.

“When I file the form at the Conflux of Records,” Raiselig said, pulling back the desk and affixing their own signature to the bottom of the paper. “I will hand the paper to the first messenger I see, or if I see none, I will return there in a year.”

“A year. Yes, yes. But a year to learn. To forget. To change. To be. A single year…”

“If you need help, I know several organizations which can provide —”

“Bauk needs no help. Bauk needs to be alone. Needs to say goodbye. Not hello.”

Raiselig gave a curt nod, and pulled a thin card from their pocket. “Here, take this. I will come if you call for me.”

A razor-sharp hand, made for the grasping and disemboweling of young flesh, snaked out and plucked the card from Raiselig’s fingers.

“Perhaps,” it whispered. “Perhaps later.”

Raiselig watched as the Bauk vanished back into the darkness. In seconds, the hole was empty.

Raiselig remained sitting for a few moments, breathing in the nighttime air. Vanishing into holes, down cracks, through pitfalls that no one had ever think to look for. That was the lot of the Bauk.

It was all they could do, to keep looking and finding those who hadn’t — or couldn’t — find a place for themselves in the new world.

Old ways worked, they did.

But for whom?

Raiselig shook their head and stood up, the mud dutifully falling back to the ground out of respect. Replacing their equipment in the cabinet, they walked down the road once more.

The old ways had worked, for some at least, but it was a new world now. Adaptability was the new watchword. To be able to fit into a new mold when the old had been outgrown…

Or taken from you.

Raiselig picked up their pace. There was a great deal of road to cover between here and Falgwyyn, the next town over. The harvest festival was in two months, and there was dissent among the local clergy as to what holy oils were permissible to soak the blessed roots in. Then there was the audit in Mimba, the divorce in Epheled, and a birthing in Woodsgreen. The road chapel between Mimba and Epheled would need study as well, to make sure the thatch was still clean…

Their mind to busy to concern themselves with doubts, Raiselig bowed their head and kept walking.